The Tree

The Tree

Stripped of the once proud mantle,

Leave’s scattered all around.

Swaying, rhythmically,

To the music of the breeze

As played by Mother Nature.


The tree, standing majestically alone,


By the singing, dancing leaves,

As for a brief moment,

In the dying day’s of autumn,

They are free,


The tree,

Soon to be adorned again,

With the hue’s, of ice and snow,

Splendor magnificent,

In the mantle white,

That is the face of winter.

Eric Valentine Oct 25 1999 ©